


Grown

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:27:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie and Harry escape a party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AmoretteHD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmoretteHD/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

Harry’s as awkward and out of place as he was when he was eleven, just in a different way.

Charlie, at first, isn’t sure if he’s seeing things that aren’t there. Harry isn’t a tiny, cute preteen anymore, with bright, wide eyes and a too-trusting smile. He’s a hardened war-hero, with enough rugged good looks to capture every witch in the room and enough strength and power to conquer every wizard. His dragon-hide jacket makes him look even more gorgeous than usual: more stylish, more confident, more _delicious_. But he wears it like a gift he never asked for, and his jeans are still too loose for his toned body.

He’s outside the house when Charlie finally tears himself away from Fleur. Even if he wasn’t gay, he has no interest in Bill’s wife, and her slinky, low-cut dress is practically falling off with firewhisky. She’s still calling off the names of French friends as he wanders off, out of the glowing, orange light of what used to be his home.

The night has washed the snow in blue, and Charlie closes the door behind himself, sitting down on the cold steps. The general ruckus off the party is muffled through the door, but it’s still an ever-present buzz in his head. Harry looks about ready to be sick and pale enough in the cold to warrant it.

Sometimes a man just needs cold over commotion, though, and Charlie mutters, “Need a breather?”

Harry breaks out of whatever inner reverie he’s stuck in long enough to nod. “Yeah... it’s just...”

“Yeah,” Charlie says for him. Harry looks momentarily relieved he doesn’t have to explain.

It’s strange to have a holiday party, so soon after a war. It’ll always seem strange for Charlie and always too soon. But he did a tenth of what Harry did, and he’s been a man for a lot longer. Harry’s the grown version of everything he was as a child—everything Charlie liked about him. And he reached that all in the midst of everything, and it makes Charlie like him even more.

But he’s already said, ‘thank you,’ and Harry never likes to hear it. So instead, he puts his hand on Harry’s knee and just repeats, “Yeah.”

Harry glances down at the hand. Charlie holds firm, not really afraid of anything. Harry can push it away if he doesn’t want it; he’s a man now. Charlie thought at first he was waiting to outrun the attraction. Now it seems like he was just outrunning the guilt. There’s nothing wrong with it now. The patience he learned from six siblings turned out to be a good virtue, and in the midst of this unraveling train, Charlie barely even notices he’s saying, “...You should come to Romania, sometime. ...For a break. You could use it.”

They could all use it. Harry looks up at him, and either the light of the party’s slipping out the windows, or Harry’s cheeks are a bit pinker. His breath is in little puffs in front of him, and Charlie’s hand trails casually up Harry’s thigh. Just a little closer, warm and reassuring. And questioning—just an invitation. Harry’s green eyes flicker back down to it, and Harry mumbles a little thickly, “I... missed out on a lot.”

“That’s what we’re here for. I know I’m the Weasley you’ve seen the least of, but I can offer you as many experiences as the rest. Just...” Charlie quirks his head to the side and smiles, articulating, “different ones.”

Harry takes a minute to slowly nod and breathe, “Good.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

The door bangs open under the weight of Harry’s back, but he just grunts and keeps going. Charlie scrambles to slam the door shut behind them and doesn’t even bother to lock it. Let the world walk in and find out. He’s too dizzy to care. And why wouldn’t Charlie want everyone to know what a catch he’s landed, anyway?

Somehow, miraculously, they make it to a bed. Ron’s bed? Charlie isn’t sure. The holiday party’s still thrumming downstairs, and the floor’s throbbing with the music and chatter. The wooden walls stifle it all, and Charlie puts two hands on Harry’s chest and shoves him backwards.

Harry falls easily against the mattress, bouncing slightly in it. It isn’t made—definitely Ron’s. Charlie crawls over Harry like the hungry predator he’s becoming, and he locks their lips together again with too much fervor and need.

Harry mewls beneath him and sounds just as desperate. His hands claw in Charlie’s broad shoulders, and Charlie shifts them to pull his jacket off, without once separating their mouths. Harry tastes heavily of firewhisky and smells like sweat and cheap cologne. Charlie knows the right spell to get rid of fabric. But he’s waited too long not to do this right, and he wants to enjoy every part.

“Ch-Charlie,” Harry mumbles, as a trail of kisses runs down his neck. Charlie’s pushing at Harry’s jacket next, indicating that it needs to move. Charlie doesn’t stop for Harry’s needy, heavy breathing, mildly hesitant and very overwhelmed. “...I... I’ve never...”

“Sit up,” Charlie growls, leaning back just enough for Harry to get up on his elbows—enough for Charlie to get rid of his jacket. Before Harry can fall back down, Charlie’s tugging at the bottom of his t-shirt—Harry sheepishly but obediently raises his arms. Charlie tosses it carelessly across the room and attacks Harry’s neck, Harry’s collarbone, the top of Harry’s chest and back up Harry’s jaw. Harry’s Quidditch-toned and in all the right shapes for Charlie’s hungry mouth—the perfect little Seeker. Charlie’s never had anyone in bed that could match him on a broom, and right now he can’t think of anything more intoxicating.

He pictures chasing Harry around the field, zooming through the skies and flying close, watching Harry’s tight muscles flex under the adrenaline of the sport. There was a first time Harry did that, too, and he’s sure Harry’s going to like this just as much. He whispers, “Shh,” and, “it’ll be okay,” anyway, and rubs soothing fingers all down Harry’s sides. Harry gasps and squirms beneath him. An inexperienced boy in some ways, a powerful man in others. Harry never got to grow up like the rest of them and never got to balance out. But he doesn’t seem to want to wait any longer.

When Charlie tugs his own shirt off, Harry’s green eyes go a little wide behind his glasses, cheeks tinting in the dim light of the window. Charlie smirks in spite of himself; he knows he’s just as good looking. He’s chiseled and tanned, and a myriad of tattoos twist down his side, all up his arms and all over his back. Some of them move and some of them don’t. Muggle tattoos and wizard tattoos woven together, and the still, Muggle ones stretch over the muscles he’s grown. Harry looks at him in awe, and Charlie mutters, “You’re so cute.”

Harry goes even redder—he’s never been good at taking compliments. Charlie trails his hands lower down Harry’s chest, stopping at the belt, and playing over it. He looks at Harry for permission to go farther. It’s so soon—too soon—but Charlie wants Harry—all of Harry—right now and as much as possible. He wants to nail Harry into the mattress and make him writhe and beg for Charlie’s cock. He wants to show Harry all the joys of growing up and explore everything with him. He wants to turn Harry into a melting, lovestruck puppy, willing to hop in a suitcase and fly back to Romania.

Harry glances at Charlie’s idle fingers and murmurs, “You want to...?”

“Fuck you,” Charlie finishes, because it’s clear that Harry isn’t going to say it. Harry’s flushed and heavy-lidded and looking at Charlie in a combination of lust, fear, and surprise. “I’ve wanted you for forever, you know, since I first saw you. Not like that at first, obviously, just affection, but it grew, and now...” Charlie leans lower down, so their tenting trousers grind together, and Harry arches with an erotic gasp. Charlie bites at the side of his ear and purrs, “Now you’re past legal, and Harry, _I want you_...”

Charlie holds eye contact as he slithers down Harry’s body, leaving random, fluttering kisses and little love bites here and there. Harry lifts back up on his elbows to watch, and Charlie flicks open his belt with too much ease. Harry springs out, hard and ready, and Charlie’s been ready for _years._


End file.
